My mother has forgotten about the sun
Her gaze gauzy, living room window
a bay shape she has always detested
Here comes the mailman
My father is in the Rehab Center
Our king and conqueror
of transient ischemic attacks
Your father’s strokes are just mini strokes
Stacked in a corner of oil stained garage
Forest green plastic lawn chairs
unparted for cobwebby eons
Virginia, what are you doing out there?
On the small concrete front porch
of that one bath, three bedroom rancher
I place two empty chairs in the sunshine
as white spiders skitter blinded down the legs
Come outside, mother, it’s so nice
Those yellow flowers by the lamppost are pretty
What are they?
My mother’s mouth is a fist
When we were little truant kids
my older brother would make his fist talk
by moving his thumb up and down
You’re in big trouble. Mom says you have to go to be early again. Sucker!
My mother lifts her eyes out of the fathoms
They came here on their own
I don’t know why
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